


Chances of Rain

by Osmosian



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 04:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Osmosian/pseuds/Osmosian
Summary: When Marquis Han's carriage stops unexpectedly, he fully expects to have to fire his driver. He does not, however, expect to see a damp bundle of a man on the road whose skin smells like paint.This a piece of work that I wrote for https://twitter.com/mmlgbtzine





	Chances of Rain

 

#  **i**

The rainfall beat its off-tempo symphony against the mahogany carriage shell, and Marquis Han watched the stout droplets decorate the windows. He pursed his lips in an almost distasteful expression as he considered the landscape of damp countryside that passed by.

Really, the storms here were the worst, and Jumin tired of them. Jumin longed for when the social season was over, and he could return to his business offices in his city, leaving his countryside manor to the various workers and servants that called it home. Still, social niceties must be observed, and Jumin did his duty to entertain and mingle with the local aristocracy. Perhaps he should be less judgemental of the place he had once, as a child, called home. Then again, perhaps not. It is not as if his childhood had dripped in fond memories.

The Marquis was tugged away from his musings by the drivers curse, muffled significantly by the rain and wood but still loud enough to be heard. Whinnying their complaints, the horses came to a rapid stop. Jumin braced his hand against the side of the carriage, wincing slightly at the sudden movements. He couldn’t help but to roll his eyes as his hand pulled down on the carriage doors decorated handle, pushing it open.

After a moment of consideration, he finally stepped out into the torrent, lifting a gloved hand to his brow and shielding his eyes from the rainfall. Marquis Han peered through the downpour at the shadowy figure of his driver who had crouched over a bundle lying in the middle of the road.

“What’s going on?” The driver jumped at the voice and footsteps of his Master and turned to watch him move closer.

“I…” He shrugged, indicating the bundle with an open hand. “I dunno. ‘E just popped up outta nowhere.”

What Jumin had thought was simply a bundle of fabrics shuddered in the cold precipitation. Jumin’s eyes widened. It wasn’t fabric at all, it was a man!  
“Did you hit him with the carriage?!”

The driver quivered at Jumin’s interrogation, before shaking his head rapidly. “No, Sir, I swear!”

Satisfied, Jumin nodded, stepping closer to the man on the ground. He narrowed his eyes, unable to make out much of the individual’s appearance in the murky environment.

“Help me get him in the carriage.” Nodding, the driver wrapped one on the man’s arms around his shoulder, and Jumin did the same with his other arm.

Between them they managed to maneuver the damp male into a passenger seat. When the stranger was seated the driver pulled away, nodding in the direction of his employer who had settled beside the other man.  
“Be careful when ‘e wakes up, Sir. ‘E could be agitated.”“Well of course he’ll be agitated. He’s just been hit by a carriage.”  
“I didn’t…!” Jumin halted the man’s protests with a simple lift of his gloved hand.  
“Go. Do the job I hire you for.” The driver bobbed his head, yes, and turned to leave. Jumin called after him: “and try not to run over any more vagabonds on the way.”  
For his efforts, Jumin was rewarded by the low mumble of a curse falling from his employee’s lips. He allowed himself a small humoured twitching at the left corner of his lips as he closed the carriage doors and settled, once again, beside the bundle of wet clothing.

Jumin sat in silence for a moment until he heard the familiar trots of the carriage horses. Only when they were moving again did Jumin allow himself to study the sleeping form. He pushed the fabrics that clung to the figure’s face aside, allowing Jumin to study the feverishly shuddering visiage.

His skin was so pale and Jumin’s brows formed a worried crease. He flicked his fingers softly against the male’s forehead and he was startled at the heat he found there. No doubt about it; the man had a fever, and it was incredibly high.  
Moving the wet clothes further away from the man’s face, Jumin’s lips parted in silent surprise as startilingly wet and blue locks tumbled onto the stranger’s face. He lifted a stray lock, toying with it absently and admiring the colour shifting in the dim carriage light. “Beautiful.” The practically silent word fell from his lips unbidden.

He tilted his head down almost unconsciously, eyes closing as he inhaled softly. The scent of the rain mingled with something much more prominent; something that reminded him of lazy afternoons in museums.  
Eventually his eyes flickered open, and was startled to see vividly teal ones staring back at him. He stilled, unable to move, or unwilling to break the hazy eye contact.  
“Where…” Jumin could almost hear the man’s cracked lips breaking all the more as they stretched over the words. “Where’s...Rika?”

Jumin opened his mouth to respond, but the blue eyes had already rolled into the back of his head, their owner drifting back into unconsciousness.

#  **ii**

The rain whipped its frozen tendrils across V’s skin. No. Not rain. The sensation was softer than rain, although perhaps just as cold. Although they seemed impossibly heavy, V somehow forced his eyelids to open a crack. Through blurred vision he managed to discern a dark, rather plump figure. A small, surprised “hmph” sound seemed to emanate from the figure as it stumbled backwards.

V closed his eyes for a moment, opening them again to a much clearer, yet still blurry vision. Afterall, he mused, he would have to become accustomed to blurry vision.  
The plump figure manifested itself into the form of a friendly-looking woman, her hands wringing the damp rag, spreading droplets onto the floor.  
And what fine oaken floor it was! V could hardly halt himself in his marvelling, but somehow managed to tug his attention back to the woman.“Hello, Ma’am.”

Or that’s what he assumed he would have said, had his body not been wracked with a bout of vicious coughing.  
Although somewhat hesitant, the woman bustled forward, pressing her hand against V’s back as he shook from the coughing fit.  
“There, there, get all that bad stuff out,” she murmured, whilst continuing to rub the stranger’s back soothingly.

When his attack had subsided, she maneuvered him so that he was more relaxed against the cushions. He lifted his head slightly, directing a small pained smile in her direction.  
“Thank you.” She nodded at his thanks. After all, he did look remarkably thankful. “I’m sorry to…” He continued, although his tone was hesitant. “Ask. But where am I? Who are you?”

After a moment of considering him, she smiled in an almost motherly manner. “You’re in Marquis Han’s estate.”

V frowned in response; her answer didn’t really clear up his confusion. Noting the frown, her smile widened, as if she were enjoying knowing something that he didn’t; No doubt it didn’t happen very often. She squatted and sat in the chair beside the bed, hands running along the damp cloth that had once been pressed against the patient’s sweating brow.

“Well, ‘e picked you up. From the middle of the road. Gave everybody quite a startle when ‘e came ‘ome with a wet lad in ‘is arms.” A small laugh fell from her friendly mouth, and V couldn’t help but to smile at the sound. Her expression cleared quite suddenly, and she stood, jostling the bowl of warm water beside her only enough to slightly dampen the wooden floor. “Oh! I should go get ‘im. Tell ‘im that you’re awake.”  
With one last smile, she moved her plump frame from the room, leaving it bare of her warmth.

In her absence, V allowed his mind to wander. His head and chest already ached, but the ache became more apparent when he considered the events of the previous...night? How long had he been there anyway? The woman he had spoken to did little to explain his situation.

He moved, sitting up on the bed with a small painful groan. Lifting a hand, he pressed his fingers lightly against his closed eyelids, wincing. This was Rika’s parting gift, and he couldn’t help but to savour the pain of it. After all, wasn’t this the last memory of her? Wasn’t touching the quivering flesh of a wound that she had inflicted almost like pressing his fingers against her hand? Her cheek? Her lips?  
V was pulled forcefully from his mournful musings by the movement of the door-handle. He tugged his head upwards, blinking through his blurred vision, and watched the tall man enter the room followed by two much more comfortably dressed women.

#  **iii**

Jumin Han was not known to be talkative, and that was definitely true when he confronted the awoken form of the man he had saved the night before. The silence stretched between them until the stranger opened his mouth.  
“I...am very grateful to you, Sir.” His lips continued to move for a moment, as if he wanted to speak more but could not find the words to say. Nodding, Jumin stepped further into the room until his thighs pressed against the bed sheets. He pinched his fingers together, leaning forward slightly to rub them against the bedsheets, as if testing the material.  
“Hm.”

V felt a strange wave of relief as he heard Jumin’s small sound. He frowned, pushing the sensation aside, and opening his mouth to speak. “Thank you, Sir, for rescuing me. I really don’t know what I would have done if-”  
“We’ll need to change these sheets soon.”

“Oh.” He flushed at the interruption, frowning and shaking his head. “No, there’s no need. I feel well enough to leave, so I’ll-”  
“The roads are flooded. You’re staying here until safe travel is possible.”

V found himself interrupted again, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Still he couldn’t help but to feel a wave of relief and gratitude towards the man, and found it easy to disregard his rude behaviour.  
“Thank you.” He held his hand out towards the stranger, indicating that they should shake hands. Jumin took a moment, considering the other, before he took the blue-haired males hand in his own, shaking it in greeting. “Perhaps I should introduce myself to my saviour.” V continued. “My name is…” He pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment, before his smile returned. “Jihyun.”

The darker-haired male narrowed his eyes at Jihyun, as if studying a scientific specimen. Jihyun shifted slightly but managed to maintain eye contact. He supposed that the Master of the House would often be looked upon with some trepidation by others, but Jihyun felt a remarkably warm impression on his chest as their eyes met. Perhaps he was simply grateful to his rescuer, he mused. Or perhaps he was simply overcome with how different the Marquis’ presence was in comparison to Rika’s.  
“I’m Marquis Jumin Han.” Jumin watched Jihyun’s lips lift into what he assumed was a relieved smile.

“Marquis Han. I really, simply cannot express to you how grateful I am.”  
After what seemed like a month, Jumin’s hand released the other’s. He nodded, watching Jiyun with dark eyes. “I’m sure you’ll find a way at some point.”  
The silence hung around them for a moment. “You speak well,” Jumin continued. “Are your family gentry?”  
“They,” The Marquis noted Jihyuns hesitation with silent interest. “They used to be. Well, I’m sure they still are. I am not though.”

“Ah, you’re disgraced? How interesting.” And Jumin did seem to sound interested. His eyes seemed to swim with amusement somewhat. “Tell me what terrible crime you commited.” Jumin sat at the end of the large bed, lips curled into a small smile. “I’ve always been so jealous of those who have the mind to disgrace themselves.”

“You’re strange.” Jihyun’s mouth lifted into a grin, surprised at the other’s words. Jumin’s gaze changed to something more sharp. Raising his hands, palms flat against the air in front of him, Jihyun made sure to keep the grin on his face. “No, it’s a good thing, trust me.”

Jumin nodded slowly, deliberately, before finally tilting his head questioningly in Jihyun’s direction. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Jihyun shifted under the tall man’s gaze, letting out a short uncomfortable bark of a laugh. “Well I suppose you could say that I…” He sighed, lifting his shoulders into a deep shrug. “Fell in love.”  
“Oh, how Shakespearean. Your family didn’t approve of the match?”  
“Oh no! They approved for a while, until it was discovered that her parentage was questionable.”  
“And then you both ran away together?”  
The ceruleum-haired man laughed wanely. “I know, I’m positively cliched. It borders on tiresome.”

After a moment, Jumin allowed himself to partake in a small smile, before shaking his head. “Not at all. I have never met anybody quite so interesting.”  
Jihyun was acutely aware of the way his chest seemed to throb at Jumin’s words. He cleared his throat, turning his head away to hide the small spread of crimson that began to decorate his cheekbones.  
“And?” Jumin continued.  
“Uhm…” He turned his attention back towards him. “And what?”  
“And what happened after you ran away? More specifically why did myself and my coachman find you in the middle of the road?”  
“That is,” leaning forward, he pressed his thumb and forefinger against either side of his nose bridge, drawing a heavy breath and letting it out slowly. “That is an incredibly long and tedious story, and I’m not sure if I’m well enough to go into it now.” If ever.

Thankfully, Jumin did not push the conversation, although there was a definite air of disappointment surrounding him. There was yet another beat of silence, before Jumin began to respond once again. “Well, then rest. I have lots of things to attend to this afternoon.”  
“Thank you again for…-”  
“Please join me later for an evening meal.”  
Somehow, to Jihyun, it felt more like a demand than an invitation.

****

#  **iv**

Tediously, the hours passed and proved only to continuously bore the occupant of the mahogany bed. Several times he had attempted pacing the room, even going so far as to count his steps. He often lost count and longed for some kind of device that would somehow count the steps for him.

Upon occasion a servant would enter the room to bring some small morsel for him to eat, or a cup of tea, or a pitcher of water, or to ask him if he needed anything. Every time he would beg for interaction. He would, to their surprise, ask about their lives, their families. But these small reprieves almost did nothing to alleviate the boredom and silence of the room. Even though he had escaped his previous prison, he was still a caged bluebird, tapping its beak uselessly against the metal bars, waiting for its Master to come home.

Jihyun startled as the door opened, sitting up straight in the bed. He almost expected to hear the tap of his Master’s heels against the floor. Previous Master.  
Instead a kind and familiar face came into view. The large women grinned at him over the top of a pile of clothing. He hurried over to take the pile off of her and place it on the foot of the bed.

“Oh no need to rush on my account. Ol’ Betty ‘as carried more that you probably ‘av in your ‘ole life.”  
He laughed. “Is Betty your name then? I never asked for it before.”  
“Oh, righ’.” She mirrored his laugh, her body moving with the deep guffaws. “Ye’ my names Betty, an’ yours is Mister Jihyun. I’ve ‘eard folks talkin’ ‘bout you.”  
“All good things, I hope?” His brows furrowed in worry.  
“‘Course.” She indicated towards the pile of fabrics on the bed. “The Lord Han asked some of the boys to go buy you some clothes. ‘E asked that you wear this” Her hands busied in the pile of clothing, pulling out a blue suit.

Jihyun threw a bemused glance across the sharply tailored outfit. “Was it requested or ordered by Lord Han?”  
She smiled in amusement, pressing the clothes into Jihyun’s hands. “Well, you’ll understand the answer to that when you understand Lord Han more.”

He nodded slowly in understanding, fingers curling around the fabric. The fabrics of the landed gentry was softer than he remembered. It was with some effort that Jihyun fought the urge to bring the fabric up to his face, if only to savour the feeling of luxury. No doubt even the illusion of luxury would be taken away from him as soon as he left the manor; as soon as the roads dried up.

The soft closing of the door drew him away from his musings. Betty had used his absent mindedness as a way to silently leave and no doubt return to her household chores.  
He sighed away his thoughts, and instead focused on changing into the clothing provided.

Moments later he found himself sat at an extraordinary decadent looking dining table. Across the table from him, on a chair that was no doubt custom made, sat an immaculately groomed, fluffy white cat. Jihyun frowned, throwing a confused, yet humoured, glance towards the man who sat at the head of the table.

“Oh!” Jumin met his gaze with a look of alarm, as if he had forgotten something very important. “You haven’t met the Duchess Elizabeth the 3rd. Duchess in name only, of course, although no doubt she’s from a royal line. She is pedigree, after all.”  
“Duchess Elizabeth the 3rd,” Jihyun echoed, both in a strange sort of awe of the marquis, and somewhat bemused at the situation. His body turns towards the pedigree cat, nodding in her direction. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,”

The cat mewled, as if she were aware of the greeting. She licked her paw almost haughtily, before turning her attention towards the dining hall door expectantly.  
“Ah, my apologies for the lateness of your dinner, My Lady. We had to wait for our company to arrive.” Jumin allowed his lips to tilt upwards into a small, humoured smile, as he lifted the bell beside his hand and rang it. A congregation of servants entered the room, holding platters of food for the three of them. One of the servants placed a dish of food in front of Elizabeth, who immediately began to eat, forgoing any social graces. Although, perhaps that is what is to be expected from a cat, even a pedigree one.

Jihyun set himself to the task of remembering all of the etiquette rules for this kind of eloquent dinner, though a more easy smile fell onto his lips as he considered Marquis Han over the rim of his wine glass for the smallest moment. Soon, his gaze returns to his food, which he eats almost gratefully.

After moments of silent eating, Jihyun finished a good portion of his food, and spoke up once again. “I was hoping,” He began, slowly. “That I could ask something of you,”  
“Oh?” Jumin’s eyebrows raised in his curiosity. “Well, you can certainly ask.” Placing his cutlery on the table, he once again rang the bell. The scurry of servants could be heard once again as they collected the empty plates.  
Jihyun cleared his throat, waiting for the bustle of waiting staff to disperse before he continued. “I was hoping that you could provide me with paper, and a pencil, if that wasn’t too much to ask from you. I’ve been dealt a lot of your hospitality already, but if I’m going to be staying here until the roads are easier, I feel as if I’ll need something to do.”

Jumin studied Jihyun for a few seconds, as if assessing the other man’s sincerity in his strange request. “Are you an artist?”  
“Of sorts,” Jihyun replied, with caution.

The darker haired man noted the way his guest had become guarded at the pressing for more information, and decided then that he’d spare Jihyun further questioning and let him keep his secrets. For now, at least. He simply nodded.  
“Of course,” He lowered his eyelashes. “I’ll have my staff find something suitable for you,”  
“Thank you,” Jihyun responded with earnest now, a genuine smile affecting his lips, one of which Jumin couldn’t help but reciprocate. Jihyun’s smile was nothing short of mesmerising.

#  **v**

Days passed and the weather continued to worsen. For the first few days Jihyun spent most of the time sitting beside the window of his borrowed room, doodling the scenery outside, or the memory of people he once knew, or the faces of the many servants that helped to make his stay as comfortable as possible.

Eventually, however, that grew tiring, and the roads grew more wet and more inaccessible to travel as the days passed. He found himself taking comfort in keeping Jumin company. Past his standoffish personality, Jihyun found a strange sense of humour that he caught himself enjoying. He also found such surprising warmth and depth, and each night he spent with the Marquis, whether playing chess or simply sitting in silence reading and drawing, was a night filled only of enjoyment and comfort.

Likewise, Jumin was aware of the way that he began to desire Jihyun’s company more and more: his whole being felt comfortable in his presence yet uncomfortable, experiencing a strange sort of fluttering sensation in his chest. If he were to compare it in a metaphor, it felt as the rain did when it rolled in during spring, leaving flowers sated and content in its wake.

Jumin may have been a creature of habit, but he was never a poet and lacked the general passion for the arts and the creative flare that he’d seen Jihyun harbouring in his scribbling.  
Which is what Jihyun was doing opposite Jumin, seated somewhat awkwardly in his chair as he rotated the paper and continued to sketch away. Beside them, the full heat and beauty of a roaring fireplace continued to paint a warm amber glow over the living room area, with Elizabeth the third basking in its gentle heat on a cushion of her own.

Jumin had been otherwise content to watch them both over the rim of his wine glass, lazily enjoying its flavour and enjoying the company, until he’d grown somewhat restless from simply watching and was eager to see the fruits of Jihyun’s labour.  
“Do you paint, too?” He asked, quietly, looking into his glass as he swirled its contents.  
This gave Jihyun a moments pause, looking up through long lashes to meet the Marquis’ gaze. He seemed almost embarrassed to have been caught getting lost in his own art - not that Jumin would have taken that pleasure away from him, even if he could have.

It took him a few seconds longer, but he eventually confessed his thoughts to Jumin and looked down to the paper once more, a little sheepishly, a little reserved. “I used to, a long time ago. My mother would paint. Before that, I had little interest in the arts.”  
He goes quiet, and Jumin makes eye contact with him once more, before gesturing with his wine glass for him to continue. It’s a gentle reassurance, and not one that needed to be spoken.  
“I was a lot like my father, before I was disgraced, so to speak.” Jihyun sighs. “I now realise that taking after my mother is not a weakness, and not something to be ashamed of, though I still struggle to take up a paintbrush. I’m content to stay with my pencil for now,” And he concludes by smiling at Maquis Han, which does odd things to Jumin’s stomach.

It’s nice to know more about the lodger in his home, the friend that Jihyun was becoming.

Before he can ponder too much on that thought, Jumin leant forward in his chair, resting his head on his hand. Jihyun lowered the sketchpad, though its contents remained still obscured from view, and arched a teal eyebrow as Jumin moves to pour himself more wine.

Jihyun could recognise in Jumin something he knew well: the desire to put your guards up, the desire to conceal something. He would never press it, but he saw it, as fleeting as it was.  
Just as he wondered on that, Jumin spoke up again.  
“Do you miss her?”  
“Terribly,” Jihyun smiled once more, but softer, and sadder this time.

Jumin wanted so desperately in that moment to erase it, that he leant forward still and refilled Jihyun’s empty wine glass, much to Jihyun’s surprise.  
Once done, he stayed close like that, leant in, and Jihyun could easily have put it down to the Marquis’ usual behaviour, in that it was strange but comforting. Instead, Jumin placed his fingers over the hand Jihyun splayed across the paper in his lap.  
“May I see what you’ve drawn?”

Jihyun paused for a good while, both a mixture of confusion and an odd warmth spreading through him before that previous embarrassment returned to replace it.  
“It’s...well,” He began, sheepish once more, reluctant to move his hand from under Jumin’s and beginning to flush a light scarlet colour. “It’s…”  
He finally cleared his throat and lifted the paper up for Jumin to see.

There, in hatched and deep dark lines was a familiar cat. A very familiar cat, indeed.  
She looked almost as beautiful in Jihyun’s handiwork as she did in the flesh, and Jumin felt a swelling in his chest.

That was likely what possessed him to gently press his fingers to the edge of the paper, thumbing it carefully as he met Jihyun’s lighter eyes and held his gaze firmly.  
It was probably what caused him to close the space between them, pressing a deep kiss to Jihyun’s lips.

Teal eyes widened at the contact, before they closed. Jihyun’s hand lifted from the paper, allowing it to tumble to the floor as if it were the feather of a bluebird passing between them, and his fingertips made contact with the nape of Jumin’s neck, pulling him closer.

The fluttering sensation in Jumin’s chest increased at the deepened kiss, and he imagined that a string bound the two of them together, tight but comfortable. A silly thought, but one that felt as if it were a blossoming lily on Jumin Han’s otherwise still and lonely waters.

After what seemed like an eternity of the soft connection of their lips and fingertips, the two men pulled away, cheeks decorated with just the smallest hint of crimson. Jumin was definitely not accustomed to the heated sensation creeping across his cheekbones.

“I’m…” Jumin began, but Jihyun stopped him with a small peck on his lips.  
“Jumin these...days have been just so different from what I’ve ever experienced.” Jihyun presses his lips into a thin line, a small frown decorating his brow. “I don’t know what I should do when the roads clear but…”  
“Stay here with me.”  
Jihyun laughed softly, shaking his head. “I can’t do that. You know I can’t.”  
Jumin frowned. “Just stay. Ignore everything else.”  
He pressed his hand to the other’s, squeezing slightly. “I’ll stay. For at least a little while.”

Although not completely content, Jumin pressed his lips against Jihyun’s in another kiss. This conversation would be one that could be had at another point in time.  
Sighing into the kiss, Jihyun swore he could almost hear the clunking sound of a few locks dropping to the floor from the still-locked cage of a singing bluebird.


End file.
